


Beneath the Surface

by Bookenchantress



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with an unhappy ending, Dallas/Johnny, Dally Has A Heart, Dally's Memories, Dally's past, Depends on Your Perspective, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Heartache, M/M, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, abusive life, maybe some, tragic ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-01-20 17:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12438276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookenchantress/pseuds/Bookenchantress
Summary: Ever wonder what made Dallas to tough to love? What goes on behind that mask of unfeeling? Well, you're here to find out aren’t you? A collection of Dally's darkest moments. ONE-SHOT Rated T for the nagging angel on my right shoulder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> People cry not because they are too weak, but because they have been strong for too long.
> 
> -Anonymous
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoy this dark and tragic fiction! ;)   
> -Jenn
> 
>  
> 
> ROLL CREDITS!

Early November

 

Hank Williams, you think as you spin in one of the bar chairs. You wrinkle your nose in disgust, Cheap. The music is blaring loudly with obnoxious female giggles to the side, it's a wonder how no one is already deaf. As usual the Greasers and Socs split apart, to prevent the mayhem. Or just that the Socs think they're better. Probably the latter.

The place is filled with people who look older than they actually are. Buck isn’t really strict on his alcohol. Just as long as they look old enough to drink, they're free. This results for a bunch of lightweights. Goddamn you, Buck. Worse of all is that smell. The smell of that repulsive alcohol.

Contrast to popular belief, you actually hate alcohol. You would drink it when you need to (to get deadass drunk) which is just one of those few times. All those times people see you with a beer bottle is just a cleaned out bottle filled up with water or something. There are times when people are too drunk and persistent to realize you just don't wanna drink. So just in case, you always carry some food dye and water to make it look like whiskey.

So yeah. In other words: it smells like shit in here. But you still come, and you need to. Why? Cause of damn reputation, that's why.

"You need a drink?" Buck asks. You snap your head up and stare at the tall lanky, blonde headed cowboy in front of you. 

"Beer." You say curtly, "Ole fashioned. Two bottles."

Buck nods and grabs the two bottles from behind the counter and slides them to you. You nod his way and busts open the cap. You actually need this today, because today is the worst day of the year. November the fucking 9th. The day that old bastard will always regret. The day that brings so many painful memories. That one day of the year that used to be the day spent with your mother. The day that you had loved and waited for. Now the day that you hate and just wish to forget.

Why?

It's the day you were born.

You didn't remember it straight away, or course, because you never remember it. No. That sack of shit reminded you about it.

/

You just wanted to run to that house really quick to grab some tools. You were hoping, no praying that the bastard wasn't awake. You entered the house and saw the sack of trash you would never call father on the couch passed out.

Right where you left him. Exactly the place he was nine months ago. You snuck up to your 'bedroom'. Stepping lightly and breathing quietly. You twisted open the expected lock on the door with a bobby pin from the bathroom sink, and emerged into your old room. The place was a dump. Broken bottles were flung across the walls, there was glass and liquid all over the floor. The mattress was torn open and the entire place smelled like shit.

Home sweet home.

The room looked worse than the living room. The asshole threw all his trash in your room, probably in case you came back.

You gritted your teeth and took the sack you brought and started loading your tools. You finished quicker than you expected and started your way down. But something caught your eye. The long life sized mirror that stayed in the corner of your room.

It was the only thing that wasn't touched. Probably cause it was too expensive to break.

You looked at your reflection.

For a minute you see the tough and mean hood. The one everyone knows and respects. Eyes were pale blue, filled to the brim with hatred for the world. That's what a life in New York could do to you. Or at least living with this wad of shit. You wonder, at times, what you would've turned out to be if you lived a life with Mr. And Mrs. C. As their son. Well you definitely wouldn't be as tuff as you is now. But...would you have been different?

Yes.

Is it a good different?

Yes. Yes it is. You wish that for yourself more than anything. But you'll tell someone that when hell freezes over. Wouldn't make much of a difference anyways. You'll always be the cold and hard hood you are.

You sneered at the mirror in hatred, and you blinked.

But there's a different reflection in it.

You saw your face with the undeniable vulnerability that once resembled you, but so much younger. When your walls were down, and you were sensitive. When you weren't known as: Dallas Winston, tough hood.

But you were known as: Dally. Just, Dally. His mother's son. Her pride and joy.

You felt the tears pushing at the back of your eyes, and you shut your eyes tightly. You pray that the image would leave, but as you opened your eyes it was still there. Innocent blue eyes, tears and all.

Gritting your teeth and crying you punched the glass. Loud, horrible noise. Shattering it to pieces, its jagged edges cutting your fist and flying everywhere and onto the floor. Your right hand was bloodied and raw with bits of glass sticking out of your knuckles. Nevertheless, you hit the back of your head on the wall and sunk down to floor bawling. Sobs choked out of your throat as the tears dropped and mixed with the blood.

You gasp out a sob as you look at your deformed reflection on the mirror. There I took care of it.

After a few moments, you regained your composure. You sniffed up your snot and wiped your eyes; standing up and grabbing your bag, you headed back out.

Everything's fine.

You take a breath a try to go back to your cool demeanor.

Nothing happened.

You turn and rammed into a man, reeking of whiskey and beer.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Dallas!" He screamed.

Although he has a beer gut, he was still bigger than you, somehow. You took a step back and glared at the ugly bastard, "I'm leaving."

You pushed past him and you heard and felt a bottle breaking right next to you. You stared in disbelief at the broken bottle that was a inch away from your face. You whirl around, "WHAT THE FUCK! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME!"

"Shut up, you piece of shit!" The sack of gut hollered.

You rolled your eyes, "Like I haven't heard that before!"

"You watch you smartass mouth! I'm trying to fucking grieve, you motherfucker! Today was the worst thing that's ever happened to me! Your bitchy mother gave birth to you, you whelp!"

Your eyes stung, "Don't you ever call her that."

"She was a filthy whore! And you look so much like her, the devil. Don't even think you're even mine!"

You screamed at him, and the ugly man hits you with the back of his hand. The jagged silver ring tears a bit of your skin and you cup your bleeding cheek with your left hand. You stare with full on hatred at the bastard. "You're a sniveling little piece of shit, and no one would give fuck if you died! You're just like you damn mother! Little bitch deseved to die. I hope she died in pain."

You see red and you entire body shakes. You clench your right fist so hard it starts bleeding again, but you don't care. You're filled with rage like you never had before.

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" You yelled.

The man sneers at you, "Yeah right-"

You stomp towards him, "GET THE FUCK OUT YOU UGLY BASTARD!" You pull out your switchblade and hold it to his neck, "Get the fuck outta my house."

The man stood his ground, but he looked a little afraid, "I'll call the police."

"Good luck doing that when your dead," You pushed the knife dangerously, closer to his jugular vein.

The man- no the bestial being glared at you, leaving the both of you at a glaring standoff.

/

You stare at the bottle consideringly. You crack open the bottle of booze and sniff. You cringe at the smell and hold your breath. You take a swing and immediately want to barf. You reluctantly swallow it down before you do.

No point anyways, not like you're gonna get drunk enough to forget today. Whatever, habits.

You grab the bottle and pop it open. You take a swing, ignoring the harsh substance. 

You down the entire thing and slam it against the counter for another.

This is gonna be a long night. Who cares? Not like you aren’t used to it. 

What was that old saying? Something like, can’t teach an old dog new tricks. You bark out a laugh.

You’re an old dog alright.

 

Early December

 

Damn broad, you think throwing on your leather jacket as you rush outside. Two timing me, again.

You clutch the Christopher in your hand, "Ain't no way I'm giving that back again." You mutter, angrily.

You know that’s not true.

You stumble across the park and shrug. It's dark, there ain't any kids around. And no Socs would dare show their face to you. You get yourself situated and grab a cigarette from your pocket and light it.

Damn Greaser chick... Bitch kicked me out of my own room. Where the fuck am I supposed to go now?!

You inhale your tobacco and blow through your nose.

This isn't fucking working, you huff.

You throw the cigarette on the thin layer of snow and it puts itself out. You stuff your hands in your pockets and start walking.

You're tired of trying to make this relationship work. You're tired of finding out that of leaving the cooler and finding out that Sylvia had cheated on you. You're tired of going on and off again with her. You're sick of forgiving her with sex. You're sick of this only being sex.

You wanted to break it off with her sooner, but you just end up going back. You hate it. You hate this confusing trap, feeling dependent on someone, and you hate that feeling when you saw her with another guy. You would analyze that feeling with anger at the guy for touching her, but you unfortunately know better. But you never want to say it. She is the only one who you want something more than just a fling. Now he sounds like one of those movie people.

It doesn't matter now. Whatever it was, it's over. It's gone.

And who the fuck cares?! There are plenty of hot broads in Tulsa. You'll find another one. Who cares about that aching feeling in you. But what can you blame her for, if she doesn't want you? There's nothing to love about yourself. And so you ignore it.

Why the hell do you still want it then. When you look at Soda and Sandy, or even TwoBut and Kathy. They have something worth staying for. You don’t. People like you don’t get- don’t deserve it. And you still, ever so foolishly, do what goes against your 'moral code'.

You care.

You still lo- like her.

And you still want her, even if you don't want to.

Yet you stupidly want her to want you.

You know that could never happen. 

You don't care that she cheated on you. You don’t care about cheating on her. You don’t care about her.

No, you don’t care at all.

Why?

You don’t like her. No, not all.

 

 

 

Goddamnit, this is gonna kill you one day.

Stop this.

But you love her.

NO YOU DON'T!

And that's simply true.

 

Late January

 

An ominous boom startled you out of your abysmal nightmare. Your cheeks were wet and your body was bathed in a cold sweat. The sheets were twisted around your limbs, probably because you was thrashing in your sleep. Your heart pounded against your chest. The room was entirely dark. No light anywhere. The remnants of your nightmare still clung to your mind, haunting you.

There was a loud screeching sound, like a car. Then a deafening crash.

Then it was hot. The red licked away at a building, like it was playing. Until there was nothing left but fire.

The quickest one was the gunshot. Loud but simple. A large BANG! Then silence...and rain.

Only the pitter patter then the splashing of the rain hitting the cement and other water.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room in blinding light. You let out a frightened cry and bury your face into the pillow. Even your breaths tremble. You swallow and once again turn to see the endless darkness of the room. You couldn't see anything.

If anyone from the gang sees you like this you would actually die. Not from some stupid nightmare.

My God, how humiliating...

As you woke up your mind swam with the departing nightmare. The light of late morning shined into your slowly opening eyes, and you brought my hands to guard them. Everything about you feels heavy from your arms to your feet. You let my head loll from one side to the other, eyes closing one more time as you try to enjoy the brief darkness. There was no option to sleep on, no point in resting and conjuring your horrid dream again.

You look in the mirror for a quick second, and examine your face. Your eyes were red and dark with exhaustion. Your usual confidant stance, replaced with a dead man. Even your eyes looked dull. Guess it's safe to say, you didn't get much sleep last night.

Haha. Very funny...

You don't know what happened. You hadn't had a nightmare since your first time in jail. When you were ten. But this shit felt so real, and the only time it felt like that was-

No. That was just stupid. You were a kid back then. A stupid kid. These sorta nightmares only happen to kids.

They ain't real.

...

The last time something real like that happened was the night before your mother died. The night before she was shot down and killed, along with many others, right in front of your eyes.

/

"Dally!"

You turned and stared at your mother with bright blue eyes. She held her hand out for you to reach, "Come on! Hurry honey! We have to catch the train!"

You nodded and grabbed her hand. You and her pushed past several busy pedestrians, but not without apologizing. Your mother taught you it was rude to not apologize. She taught you well. It was your father that ruined you, and hated you, and would kill you if he had the chance.

And that's why you were running away.

She turned and ran into an alley, "Come on Dally! This'll be faster!" She practically drags you down the alley, as you can't run that fast yet. There only so much a newly turned seven year old could do.

But she ran, and she ran as fast as she could. She was going to get away. Away from the dangers. Away from your father. Away from hell. Away and to a new life. That's what she always said.

 

"Will there be horses there, Mama?" You would question with wide eyes. "Like the ones in my story?"

"Shh." She shushed, "It's our secret, remember? Don't yell or tell Dad." She held you in her warm arms, "Yes, Dally. There will be horses. There will be hundreds of horses."

You smiled real wide showing your missing from tooth, "Wow!" You covered your mouth, but a grin escaped your lips, "Can I ride them?"

She grinned, just like you. She was beautiful, with fair hair and a happy laugh. She never laughed anymore, though. At least not with dad around. No, she saved that laugh for you. And with your same smile she hugged you tighter, "You can ride any horse you want. But you know something better than horses, Dal?"

You cocked your head to the side. What could be better than horses?

"A new life." She traced her fingers on his palm, "For you. Away form this hell. You could find new friends, and we could get a house."

If it was even possible your mouth split into an even wider smile, "A house! A house and a friend! Oh boy! Oh boy-"

She covered your mouth and you laugh sheepishly, "Sorry, Mama."

She wrapped her arms around you, and gently rocked you, "A new house, and friends, and horses, Dally." She whispered.

You blinked your eyes sleepily, then you shake awake. Planning is a lot of work. "Horses..." You mumbled.

She kissed your head, "And a new life."

 

 

You had a nightmare though. The day before. And you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was gonna-

"Come on, Dal!" She panted, "We're almost there-"

She bumped into someone. And stumbled back. You fall back to the ground, and you stared at the mysterious person's shoes.

"Sorry sir." You muttered.

Your mother holds you close to her, "Don't say sorry to him, Dally."

You looked up at her strangely. You thought you were supposed to apologize to everyone. You look into your mother's eyes and you see fear, like the same eyes it gets when your father got drunk and dangerous.

"Get behind me, Dallas." She said.

You get behind her quickly and peak from under her arm.

"What do you want." She sneered.

The man chuckled, but not happily. It was a mean laugh, a forced one too. A Jet. "Jets" were the Socs of New York. "sharks" were the Greasers.

"Would you look at the little shark." He laughed, "And his mother!"

She snarled and held you tighter. He pulled out a gun and had it trained on you. "Little shark's a piece of trash to add to the pile in this city. I'll do you a favor, lady. Move and I won't kill you."

Your mother stared into the eyes of that man, but never moved a muscle.

He laughed again, "Suit yourself."

He cocked the gun, and pointed it at her, but then a bang. The man froze and fidgeted. He then fell to the ground of his own blood. Standing behind him was a shark as well.

"Dumbass..." The shark muttered, stuffing the gun in his back pocket. His eyes glanced at you and a grin broke through his face, "Hey kid, how 'bout you join my gang?"

Your mother held you and shook her head, "He isn't going anywhere."

The shark frowns and opens his mouth, but before any words could come out, a bunch of Jets came out and growled menacingly at him. The shark whistles and a bunch of other sharks came in.

There was shooting. And blood. Lots of blood. You had lost your mother in the havoc.

"Mama!" You cried looking among the dead. "MAMA!" You fall to your knees sobbing to yourself.

"Hey kid." The previous shark said. You looked angrily at the shark. It's his fault your Mama died. He ignored your glare, "Join my gang."

What? You hesitated. Why would you join a gang. You had only heard bad stories from them and you didn't exactly want to be those bad people to. But...You have no where else to go. You looked at his hand and you take it. You look around and see the rest of the Sharks come toward him.

"Name's Vixen."

"Dally." You said.

"Alright Dallas." He cocks his head and gets a good look at you, "You're a little younger than what we take."

You gulped, "I'm seven."

Vixen looks unsure, but one of the guys spoke up, "We can make him a tough one. I can see it."

"Alright, shut up." Vixen held up a hand for silence. He looks over you again, then nods. "Alright, kid." He hands you a knife, "Cut your wrist."

You hesitate and quickly cut your wrist. You cringe at the blood and feel tears spill from your eyes at the pain. One of them gives you a cloth and you hold it against your wrist.

Vixen grins, "Tough, kid. You're one of us now."

That was your first and definitely not your last encounter with a Jet.

/

That happened ten years ago. The bastard soon ended up packing up and taking you to Tulsa, when you were thirteen. The same place you and your Ma wanted to have a life.

You shiver. Will the same thing happen again? But it can't. You won't let it. You rub your face tiredly and sigh. You put on a t-shirt and walk downstairs.

Just be cool.

Everything's fine.

Everything's normal.

Nothing will happen, nothing can happen.

Then why does you have so much doubt?

 

Early October

 

You run out of that store like your life depends on it. And that's because it does. You hold your gun on your right hand and your bag of money at your left. You ditch the money, cause you won't need it where you're going. As you reach the payphone you quickly dial the Curtis house.

"Hello, Darry?" You ask.

"No it's Steve." Steve answers from the phone.

You sigh in frustration, "Could you put Darry on the phone. Please." You didn't care if you sound rude, you need Darry.

Now.

"Yeah sure."

Silent for a moment.

"Hello?" Darry answers.

"Alright Darry, listen." You say quickly.

"Dally?"

"Yeah. I robbed a store, man. The cops are looking for me. Can you meet me at the park?"

"Sure, Dal. Are you alright?" Darry asks, concern filling his voice.

"Yeah...Johnny's dead."

"We know. Hang on we'll be right there."

You hang up and bolt out of the phone towards the lot.

They say you remember random things when you are in trouble. And for some reason you remembered the cold January and that early February.

You remembered when you used to have nightmares. You realize now, that those were true.

The deaths.

The crash.

Mr. and Mrs. Curtis

Fire

Johnnycake

Those deaths. They were all true. All of them. They were caused by you. You could have stopped it, but you didn't.

A gunshot.

Goddamnit

A gunshot.

You stop thinking that, cause it's making you lag behind.

A gunshot.

You hesitate, and you look down at your gun. Your fingers grasp the familiar cold metal. The sirens get louder and blare faster as they come closer to you. You hear the fuzz yell and curse at you, chasing down the street.

Just need to get to the lot.

Get to the lot. Get to the lot. Get to the lot.

The sirens follow you down the tragic Tulsa night.

They have you surrounded there. Everything's just going way too fast. You hear faint yelling, and you see out of the corner of your eye the gang. Your friends. You felt upset for a second, that they had to see this.

You shut your eyes, biting back tears. Sorry. Mama always told me it was rude to not apologize.

Your eyes fling open once again. It was too late now anyway. Doors slam and the policemen come out of their cars. Your hand flung out with the gun, and you aim if at the officers.

A chorus of scream and shouts appear on your right, as the bullets fly. They all fly by you for a second, and then one hits you. It hits you in the chest, right to your heart. Piercing you like a hot iron sword. You saw him, the rookie, he was the one that shot it. Lucky shot, you think. He‘s gonna get a shit ton of rewards for getting the great Dallas Winston. Though he, the rookie, doesn’t look so great. Looks sick in fact.

You freeze and jerk around facing the gang. Your family. Everything happens from here on out in slow motion. The police holding up their guns. Your family running to you, mouths open in panic. And yourself, well, you just feel like sleeping.

You are finished. You're done, because this is your end. And you've accepted it.

A gunshot.

Then rain.

You feel the gun slip out of your limp fingers. Time resumes. With a look of grim triumph, you collapse. You close your eyes, hearing the sound of feet racing towards you. The sound of sirens still blaring in victory.

Then they all cease to exist. The only sound in the world was the pitter patter of the rain, dropping on your face and splattering on the ground.

You like the rain

Your Mama did too

There was peace. At last.

We made it Mama. We're safe now.

I ain't going anywhere.

 

 

Stay Gold,

Jenn


	2. A Thank You

Thank you all so much for reading. I just wanted to let you all know that. And I’ve heard some people wanted this

to continue. If you do just comment, and I might come up with something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Jenn ;)

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a little thing to get stuff of my chest. To which I know many of you can relate to. I hope you enjoyed it, because I'm not sure it was very good. Defiantly not my best piece. But I hope you could grasp some sort of concept from it.


End file.
